tonight we are victorious
by chinarai
Summary: This is a gym. Keith is here to teach a class, to tell them to jump and kick and punch, to keep them moving. He's got no business smelling this good here. Compared to him, Shiro is certain he smells of old sweat and dirty socks.
1. it hurts until it stops

Hey! I'm Chi, new to the fandom, binge watched everything in a weekend but I'm rewatching the show because I was doodling half the time. I decided to try my hand at a little bit of sheith and chose a modern setting because it's easier, I admit.

Title's from a patd song because I love Brendon

Enjoy!

* * *

Given his obvious size and the muscle mass accented by a tight shirt, Shiro doesn't need to mention to anyone he meets that he likes working out. He would spend hours in the gym if he could, lifting weights and pushing himself past his limits, relishing in the soreness of his arms and legs when he can up the weights by a pound or manages to do more reps than usual. He enjoys running in the mornings, and sometimes he will run again early in the evening after a particularly draining day at work.

His workout routine revolves around the gym and the paved streets of his neighborhood, though he will sometimes indulge in a light water volleyball match on the usual Sunday lunch at the Holts on hot days, and often accompanies Matt on his quest to find an exercise he enjoys so his mother can stop nagging him about his sedentary lifestyle.

Which brings him to a Muay Thai gym he had never noticed before despite being located in a busy street. If there is one person that is more sedentary than Matt, it's his sister, but ever since she joined this place two months ago, she comes over for her daily classes and goes back home drenched in sweat, but in a good mood. If this gym fixed Katie's disinterred for sports, then it is going to fix Matt's as well, or so their mother thinks.

The place is nondescript on the outside, a simple white building with a red logo on the front that he somehow missed every time he drove past. From the door, they can see the blue tatami training mat, some punching bags hanging from the ceiling, benches by the windows where some people linger and chat waiting for the class to start, a set of lockers, some doors that presumably lead to bathrooms and changing rooms. A man is moving behind the counter to their right, fussing around a pile of receipts and paper sheets.

When he spots them standing there, the frown on his face vanishes and a grin takes its place. "Hey, I'm Lance. Are you here for a trial class?"

Shiro steps forward when Matt stays mute, probably second guessing his decision of coming. "I'm Shiro. Yes, we've heard about it from Katie, Matt's sister."

Lance's eyebrows inch up as he takes his hand for an amicable, but strong, handshake. "She did say she'd drag him here. The resemblance is uncanny." Matt slowly approaches them as Lance pulls open a drawer and places two forms and pens on the counter. "Muay Thai can be an arduous workout, especially if you're a couch potato. It's required that you fill this up and sign it to show that you're aware of it in case your blood pressure goes low, and you might get bruised afterwards."

Matt looks ready to quit then and there, but Shiro coaxes him into signing the paper and trying it out. Lance sets the forms aside and guides them to the back of the building towards the lockers as he gives them some information about the class, trying to soothe Matt's visible, exaggerated worry that he'll be returning home with a black eye and missing teeth. "I'm known for lighter workouts, but I'm not your instructor for this round." He says as they tuck their shoes and other belongings into the lockers. "But Keith goes easy on newcomers, so you should be alright."

That does the trick. Matt relaxes slightly and the tension seeps out of his body the more he hears the other people talk about the class. The mat is cool and firm beneath their feet, some upbeat song plays from the speakers, and they linger by the punching bags, talking to more experienced students. A man introduces himself as Hunk, Katie's usual partner, as he rolls yellow bandages around his hand and tells them of how much fun he's had since he joined a month ago.

"Alright, guys!" A masculine voice says from over the music. "Let's line up."

A man with tied black hair walks out from one of the rooms in the back and that is when Shiro's brain sizzles. Despite the shorter stature, he is all lean muscle and fair skin, made visible by the tank top and the training shorts he wears that stop by mid-thigh. Before he knows it, his eyes are sweeping over his toned biceps and legs, and his mouth both waters and dries at the sight. Matt makes a noise of despair beside him as the man comes to stop before the logo painted on the wall, the same one seen outside.

His gaze settles on them and he joins them quickly, sticking a hand out, a slight smile on his face. "I'm Keith. I'll be your instructor tonight." Shiro takes his hand, warm and callused and strong, and his brain edges on the brink of shutting down. Keith moves on to greet Matt, and he tells him their name because Shiro was too busy spacing out to do so. "Don't be afraid to go at your pace. If you need help or feel unwell, just call me."

And then begins Matt's downfall and Shiro's crush only grows.

The students scatter around the tatami, one of them at the front, and the warmup is simple enough. They do some stretches and Shiro breezes through the jumping jacks, sit-ups and push-ups while Matt doubles over and heaves for a breath. All the while Keith is spurring them on with some words of encouragement and counting aloud from one to five, letting the others pick up from where he left off and finish the count to ten. Shiro takes extra care to keep his form correct and revels on Keith's words when he stops by his side and compliments on how he's so easily doing fifty push-ups.

Shiro has to pick Matt off the floor when they are given a one-minute break to catch their breaths and have a sip of water. His friend topples on the bench ungracefully and places his head in his hands, face flushed red like a tomato and breathing loudly through his mouth. When they line up again, Matt somehow keeping upright despite the slouch of his spine, the same student from before has kick pads on his forearms and is standing at the front across Keith.

Keith has a pair of red boxing gloves on and goes through a simple routine of jab-punch-uppercut-kick at a slow pace so they can pick up on it, repeats it four other times before he goes all out. The student braces himself for the hits that echo in the room, loud slaps as fists and shin connect to the pads with incredible strength and speed. Both Matt and Shiro hold their breaths for different reasons at the sight.

The students walk over to a shelf they hadn't seen before to pick two kick pads for each pair, and Keith approaches them to adjust the straps around Matt's forearm. "You can use one of the spare boxing gloves if you want." He supplies, cocking his head towards the shelf. "Most students have their own, but if you don't mind a little bruising, then you can forego it." He looks at Shiro. "Don't push yourself too hard if your prosthesis can't handle it, okay?"

He leaves them to do his rounds around the training mat. Matt mimics the stance from a nearby pair and Shiro repeats the routine slowly so his friend can keep up, twisting the pads for the uppercut and turning his body for the kick. Matt is trying, and Shiro knows his friend is glad that he isn't punching and kicking hard enough to rattle the bones in his arms like some of the students. After the time is up, they switch and Shiro adjust the straps on his bigger forearms, encouraging his friend to keep punching and kicking when all he wants is to go home and curl up beneath the shower.

Keith adds some other moves to the routine, more jabs and punches and a kick on the opposite side. This time he corrects Matt on his form and Shiro is more than glad to hold the pads up and let him demonstrate how to perform a kick correctly, watching in mesmerized silence as loose strands of black hair flutter around his face. Keith pats Matt on the shoulder and moves on to check on the other students.

It's not long before he returns when Shiro is the one punching and kicking away. His coordination and form aren't so bad as he thought they would be so he doesn't need Keith to correct him – sadly. "You're doing well, Shiro."

He grins at him, fisted hands raised to his face, brain holding onto the sound of his name in Keith's voice and safeguarding it so he can daydream about the instructor later. "Thanks."

He kicks out again, stronger than before, and ruins everything.

His heart was already beating fast due to the exertion, and then it kicked up a notch when Keith spoke his name. It comes to a screeching halt when Matt yelps and stumbles backwards. The other students spare them a glance, but thankfully, they don't seem to notice it was him that did it and quickly go back to what they were doing.

Keith did, though, and now he's unstrapping the kick pads from Matt's forearms and checking for injuries. Matt wasn't properly braced for the kick and it knocked back his hand so, essentially, Matt punched himself in the face, a purple bruise already blooming on his left cheekbone. Shiro winces at the sight and helps him stand, walking him to the bench by the walls. Lance joins them quickly with an ice pack, and Keith lingers around them for a moment until Matt assures him he's fine.

Matt presses the ice pack to his face with a grimace. Shiro doesn't know if he's dying inside because he hurt his best friend or because Keith saw everything. He's embarrassed either way. "I'm very sorry, Matt."

His friend brushes the apology off with a languid wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Shiro. I was about to quit either way."

"Do you want some water? We can go home."

Matt smiles slightly. After years of being friends, Sam and Colleen have basically adopted Shiro, making their home his as well. "Water's fine, and no. We're staying." Shiro is about to protest, but Matt lifts the ice pack off his face and fixes him with a stare. "I was nearly dying there, but I didn't miss the way you were ogling the instructor."

Shiro's face is lightly pink from the workout and it grows a little redder. "I wasn't ogling anyone."

"Sure you weren't." Matt winces as he puts the pack over the bruise. "Just go back there and enjoy the last twenty minutes, okay? I'll be fine."

Shiro hesitates but goes back, and Keith is there by his side before he knows it. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he is." He looks around them, at the pairs going through another routine now, and realizes he doesn't have a partner.

Keith does the same and picks up on the same thought as quickly as he picks up the discarded kick pads from earlier. "Here, I'll help you."

The idea is very appealing, but he's the instructor and there are eight other people he needs to keep an eye on. "Are you sure?"

"It's no problem. Let's go."

Keith demonstrates what to do. Up until the second kick, nothing changes. Keith arranges the kick pads so they're protecting Shiro's stomach, and then he's reaching for his neck, and Shiro knows he's done for. Keith's fingers dance along the edge of his undercut before they settle on the nape of his neck, and Shiro inhales deeply, the smell of Keith's cologne hitting him harder than the knees to the pads. Keith's forearm lays across his chest to push him backwards, and the fresh air clears some of Shiro's brain.

This is a gym. Keith is here to teach a class, to tell them to jump and kick and punch, to keep them moving. He's got no business smelling this good here. Compared to him, Shiro is certain he smells of old sweat and dirty socks – and he's bare footed!

Shiro slips into the routine, trying not to let Keith's smell and the softness of his hair against his knuckles distract him from what he's doing. "How often do you work out?"

"Daily," he responds, slightly out of breath, and Keith takes on the kicks without a flinch.

"So can I push you to your limit even with your prothesis?"

Shiro shrugs without dropping his guard, putting on a mask of nonchalance when he's secretly glad he was given a chance to show off. "Of course."

When the routine is over, Keith returns to the front of the class. In their last five minutes there, all they have to do is more kicks, as hard and fast as they can go. Ten with the right leg, ten with the left, and then they drop down and do either ten push-ups or sit-ups. Stand up, do nine reps of each, and so on until they reach zero. It doesn't sound as complicated as it looks, and Keith makes it look easy with his grace, muscled legs, the pinch of his eyebrows and speed.

Keith holds up the kick pads. "Give me all you've got, Shiro."

The first set is fairly easy, and his throat begins to burn as he begins the next countdown. His pace slows down, kicks losing a bit of their strength, and Shiro is glad that Matt is away now, because he would have died here if he had stayed.

"Faster." Keith commands. "Come on. Harder, Shiro!"

Shiro would have choked if he had any saliva left in his mouth right now. If Keith realizes how it sounded like, then he's certainly not showing it. He is determined to push Shiro to his limits, repeating the words and sometimes directing them to the other students, his eyebrows merely twitching with every blow.

When Shiro lands a particularly hard kick on the seventh countdown, Keith grunts. Shiro has to readjust his footing because he nearly lost his balance.

If having Keith holding him by the neck – or holding Keith by the neck – was some kind of sweet temptation, then listening to his grunts and occasional orders of going faster or harder is downright sinful. His mind catalogs the sounds for later use, and they are the motivation he needs to go all out and kick as hard as he can until his shin is red and Keith's grunts are engrained in his mind.

Shiro waits until they're dismissed before laying down on the training mat. His shirt is drenched, his bangs are splattered to his forehead, his lungs are screaming for air and his throat is begging for water. Matt hovers above him and passes him a bottle, the bruise still purple, but not as swollen as it could've been thanks to the ice. Shiro eyes the bottle as if it's both alien and a miracle, and downs most of the contents as fast as he can.

Matt pulls him to his feet and gives him a congratulatory pat on the back, which is actually just a quick tap of his fingertips to the sweaty shirt. "You made it, and you didn't even faint when he helped you."

"I already messed up as it is." Shiro motions to the bruise. "How's your face?"

"Don't stress about it. I'm sure Katie can hide it with some makeup."

They go to the changing room so Shiro can wash his face. He prefers to shower at home so he can slip right into his pajamas and relax, so he wipes the sweat away as much as he can with his face towel until it's damp. Lance is beginning the warmups of the next group when they exit, and most people of their class have already gone. The instructor waves at them as he paces around the mat mid-count.

Keith is behind the counter this time. He isn't like Lance who grinned at them from the moment they entered the building, but he gives them a small smile as they approach. Shiro can see he isn't good at dealing with people, not as extroverted as his coworker, but he's a damn good instructor, so they can go without jokes and smiles (as beautiful as they are).

"Hey." He eyes Matt's bruise but doesn't mention it. "So what did you think?"

"Not really my style." Matt says with a laugh. "I think I'll pass, sorry."

"What about you, Shiro?"

He's rendered speechless for a heartbeat, his own name bouncing in his head, Keith's voice reverberating in his skull. His eyes are blue. Had he noticed before that Keith's eyes were blue? Because they are and, wow, if they aren't the prettiest shade he's ever seen–

"Of course he is." Matt answers in his stead, patting his bicep almost consolingly. "He's just a bit winded, but he's coming back. Right, Shiro?"

Shiro can only nod an imperceptible shake of his head. Keith's smile widens just a bit then. "Great. Next time you come, we can fill in your subscription."

"He's doing it now." Matt claps his back and steps back. "I'll wait for you in the car, Shiro."

He leaves quickly, wiping the sweat on his shirt as he goes, as if he doesn't want to give Shiro a chance to keep him around. Keith doesn't seem to mind his hasty exit and places a flyer the size of his hand on the counter. "This is our weekly schedule. My classes are at seven and nine in the evening."

Shiro takes the flyer, looks down at the black and white print and then at Keith's eyes. It takes him a second but his brain, which has been playing his name and the sound of the instructor's grunts on loop for the past minutes, catches on the hidden meaning of his words.

Oh.

He smiles and leans onto the counter, gathering his wits and starting a small talk as Keith types the necessary information on the subscription file, smile fixed in place and shoulders shaking in silent laughter whenever Shiro says something mildly funny.

Shiro can't wait for the next class.

* * *

I've been going to some muay thai classes for two weeks now and some things happened to me that inspired this fanfic (namely the guy that smells really nice and punching myself in the face). I might expand this, but for now I'll leave it as complete.

Thank you for reading!


	2. do you feel it?

HEY this has been up for a while now on AO3, so my apologies. The next chapter should be posted as soon as I finish one shipping event (if my writing muse shows its face again)

Enjoy!

* * *

"You're really taking this Muay Thai thing seriously, aren't you?"

Shiro doesn't need to look at Matt to know that his brow is furrowed and his lips are quirked in his default expression of amusement, but he does so anyway. Matt sits on the driver's seat, hands curled around the steering wheel, tapping his fingers to the sound of a song picked by Pidge. She's on the backseat, playing a game on her 3DS, buttons clicking wildly. Shiro knows that, if he looks back, her eyebrows are knitted and her tongue is poking out in concentration.

Of course he's going to take it seriously, especially when the instructor - Keith, his mind supplies in a choir of angelic voices - seems to have taken a liking to him. Keith would not have mentioned the times he's the one teaching the class if he didn't want to see Shiro there, and while he thinks Lance is a capable instructor just as Keith, Shiro enjoys seeing him demonstrating the moves with his lean, long legs. And the compliments coming from Keith's mouth sound sweeter to his ears, too.

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, eyes back on the road. "Sure."

Matt snorts, but doesn't say anything else. "Like you didn't see that coming." Pidge says from behind Shiro's seat, the portable video game playing a muted depressing tune that signals a game over. "You know Shiro has a weakness for pretty boys."

"I do not-" He twists around to fix her with a playful glare - "Have a weakness for pretty boys."

The siblings snort in perfect unison; Shiro's cheeks burn in response. "I hate to break it to you, Shiro, but all your exes were pretty boys."

"Like they came straight out of a boy band photoshoot." Pidge nods, arms crossed. "If I did a full face makeup, I wouldn't look as good as them. Ever."

Shiro reaches out to poke her in the knee. "Stop being silly."

Pidge swats his hand away lightly and he recoils his arm with a faux indignant huff, settling back on his seat properly as Matt steers them to Shiro's favorite sports store in the city. The ride takes significantly less time than usual due to the hour of the day, and the Holts siblings keep on listing his past crushes to prove their point, even after they park the car by the front doors in the nearly empty parking lot.

"And there was that Patrick guy from the coffee shop. You know, the one that wore square shaped glasses for aesthetics and vests all the time?" The automatic doors slide open to let them into the shop. Pidge goes on. "You went there every day and ordered the same thing hoping he would recognize you as a regular, but he never did. And the coffee was terrible."

"Save him from reliving his sorry excuse of a love life, Pidge." Her brother cuts in, giving him a pitying pat on the back. "At least, Keith knows his name now."

Shiro shakes his hand off, but smirks at his friends. Their laughter dies and so does the topic, and they weave through aisles and shelves looking for boxing equipments. Pidge goes to another section to look for more gym clothes, seeing as she's going there regularly and only owns three shirts and two pairs of leggings.

They find the martial arts section and its numerous options of boxing gloves at his disposal to pick. Matt picks a package from the shelf and reads the instructions on the label so they can figure out Shiro's size. Shiro stops by his left side, glances up at his friend's face and quickly focuses his gaze on the tiny words.

The bruise on Matt's left cheekbone has gotten better over the course of the last few days, but it's still purple with spots of green slowly blooming around the edges, although it isn't as swollen anymore. Pidge did a wonderful job to hide most of it with more concealers than they thought she owned, so much so that Matt was complaining about how odd it felt on his face, but it seems the harsh artificial lights of the shop erase all of her work - or Shiro has already memorized it well. Shiro can see well the outline of the bruise beneath the layers of makeup. He apologizes to Matt on a daily basis.

Shiro hasn't returned to the gym since, and it isn't because he thinks someone will bring up the miscalculated kick. If anything, Matt's bruise is a physical reminder that that night truly happened, although he has nothing else to use as confirmation that Keith implied what Shiro thinks he did. That could be an hallucination created by his exhausted mind, but he's sure it could never recreate that perfect shade of blue that makes up Keith's eyes even in his wildest dreams.

When he returned to the car, Matt took a look at the black and white flyer and flipped as if Keith had given Shiro something invaluable and precious. He had twisted the paper around searching for a phone number, but found nothing. Shiro hid well his slight disappointment that he wasn't given a means to contact him, but he would have plenty of time to give the instructor his phone - if only work at the Garrison would let him go home before it was ungodly late.

Matt tosses the gloves back on the shelf - and by that Shiro means put it back with slightly less care than usual. "How much does a man like you that's pure muscle mass even weight? Don't they have gloves that aren't in this sealed plastic cases?" He squints at the various gloves on display. "Or we can try to find someone to help. Surely someone that works here knows how this works."

"Pidge has her own pair, doesn't she?" Shiro watches as his friend stalks down the aisle hoping to find some case-less gloves. "Maybe she can help."

"That," Matt turns around with a finger pointed at him, "is the smartest thing you've said all day, Shiro."

Shiro rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. "Gee, thanks."

They head to the women's clothes section, but Pidge is nowhere to be seen. Matt reasons that she's still in the shop somewhere, or else she would have contacted them in some form to let them know she went to another place. That, and the fact that, despite going to a gym now, Pidge still isn't a fan of going places on foot, especially when it's warm out. The problem now is that the store is quite large and while they have plenty of time to pick a pair of gloves for Shiro, Matt would rather not spend most of his afternoon trying to find his little sister as if they were kids again and she wandered away from their parents' shopping cart.

Matt takes the lead and Shiro silently follows glancing around as his friend presses his phone to his ears and waits for her to answer the call. When he curses silently and pockets the device, Shiro figures she must have forgotten to unsilence her phone - again. They eventually spot her talking to someone hidden behind a column across the store, past the men's clothes section and the swimming goggles, by the racks of dumbbells on the far wall.

His friend may be shorter, but he knows how to power walk efficiently, and Shiro is moving quickly to keep up with him, sidestepping the items on display and evading elbows that could hit him in the ribs. He trips on thin air, though, when he catches sight of who Pidge is talking to.

Lance and Keith.

Matt whirls around in time to see Shiro regain his balance, cheeks flushed pink. They spy the trio, but they haven't noticed his slip up, so Shiro brushes imaginary lint from his bare forearms and summons his inner runway model, strutting almost too casually towards them. Somehow Matt manages to keep a straight face, but they both know he's going to laugh for fifteen minutes straight once they make it to the car.

Pidge spots them approaching from her peripheral vision and turns to them with a dangerous glint in her eyes, zeroed in Shiro. "Look who I found."

He follows the wave of her hand with his eyes and trails his gaze up Keith's chest until their eyes meet. He smiles pleasantly at the instructor and then looks at Lance, flashes him a brilliant, but friendly grin. "Hey. It's been some time."

"Pfft, yeah, it has." Lance says, reaching out to greet both men with handshakes. "We thought you had quit. Where have you been?"

"Work has been hectic." Shiro offers Keith his hand, and he takes it. The grip is soft, yet firm enough that Shiro will imagine the pressure for the rest of the day, hands warm and roughened from the training. Their fingers drag along their skin as they pull away. Matt steps forward to greet Keith too.

"Oh yeah? Where do you work?"

"Matt and I work at the Galaxy Garrison. Pidge has a spot secured for her once she graduates."

"All those sleepless nights studying paid off," she says with a self-satisfied grin and a shrug of her shoulders. Pidge did everything in her power to keep her grades high enough so she could be offered a spot within the Garrison. Another Holt to the group.

Lance lets out an impressive whistle and nudges Keith with his elbow. "We're talking to geniuses, man."

Pidge, as usual, jumps at the opportunity to learn more about Shiro's crushes whenever she's around. It's a good way to gather information without making him seem desperate. "Do you have any majors?"

"Keith here has a Physics degree." Lance pats his friend on the back heartily. "I have an Engineering one."

She turns her inquisitive eyes to Keith. "Physics? Why don't you work in the area?"

Keith's only response is to shrug halfheartedly and change the topic of conversation. "Why'd you come to the store for?"

It's the first time he speaks since the conversation began and Shiro had forgotten how nice his voice is to his ears. Matt slaps him on the shoulder to wake him up from his reverie as per customary, used to Shiro's tendency of daydreaming in the most inopportune of times. "We're here to get him a pair of boxing gloves, but we can't figure out his size. Care to help him?"

The question is obviously directed at Keith. Lance spares a glance between them as his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. He looks at Pidge and she nods, confirming the brief suspicions that crossed his mind. Holy shit. Shiro is so going to strangle Matt when they get to the car.

Lance coughs into his fist. "Um, yeah, go help him, Keith. Don't worry, Matt and Katie can help me carry the dumbbells to the cashier once I pick them."

Matt's expectant face falls and gives way to a half surprised, half pained look. Pidge nearly doubles over laughing and reaches out with two fingers to snap her brother's mouth shut. Shiro thinks Matt kinda deserves it for being such a bad wingman; it's no wonder he goes to Pidge for relationship advice.

Keith huffs in amusement and cocks his head towards the martial arts section. "Sure."

Shiro walks two steps behind him, turns around to look at his friends and immediately regrets it. Pidge is giving him thumbs up, Matt is making kissy faces, and Lance looks like he's on the brink of exploding if he keeps his laughter inside for much longer. Matt's blunt way of forcing Keith to spend time with Shiro must be what makes Lance so red in the face with lips tightly pressed together, and it makes Shiro feel all the more embarrassed about it.

He looks at Keith's back one last time - maybe oggles his ass for a second or two - and quickly catches up with him. Keith doesn't say anything as they walk the short distance to the rows and rows of boxing gloves, and while Shiro would love to hear more of his voice, he's happy with just being in his presence for now.

He gets to listen to their friends laughing loudly behind their backs, though, and Keith groans. "I have a feeling I shouldn't have left Lance alone with your friends."

Shiro blinks and chuckles as they come to a stop before the boxing gloves again. "In hindsight, yeah, we probably shouldn't."

Keith huffs, but he's got a slight smirk on his face and Shiro's heart trips on itself. When he lifts his hand silently, palm turned up, Shiro looks at it questioningly and then at him again. "Give me your hand." Keith flexes his fingers for added emphasis. "I'm going to use my own as base."

Some part of his soul dies and ascends to heaven, Shiro is sure of it, and when his hand touches Keith's, he listens to the same choir of angels that have been living inside his head ever since he first laid eyes on the instructor. Keith is very professional about it, turning Shiro's hand over with strong, steady fingers and pressing their palms together to compare the size of their hands.

"Matt couldn't figure out your size?" Keith drops his hand and gives him a meaningful look. "I'd say it's big."

Keith turns away to the boxing gloves, and Shiro manages to catch just a glimpse of the smirk that plays on his lips. Shiro's cheeks are painted pink, yet his mouth curls into a smirk as well, one that's more visible than Keith's subtle one. The instructor tosses him a pair of black gloves that Shiro catches without breaking eye contact, Keith observing him from over his shoulders with a glint in his gorgeous eyes that stir something deep within Shiro's chest - and probably elsewhere too.

"These are one size bigger than mine, they should work." Further down the aisle, Keith finds a pair of red hand wrappings and tosses them towards Shiro. "Take one of these. They're good for training too."

Shiro tucks the gloves beneath his arm and turns the wrappings around in his hands. "Do you do this every time you have to help a student pick their gloves?"

"I don't actually go out of my way to help every student that I run into in sports stores, but," Keith turns around fully then, gaze trailing appreciatively over Shiro's frame. "I can make an exception."

Something in his stomach twists, his chest flutters, and Shiro can only do so much to not shiver before his instructor. Sadly, his brain doesn't supply him with something witty or flirty to say, and he flushes darkly when Keith chuckles softly behind a fist. But his ears are pink, too, so Shiro doesn't mind much the heat concentrated on his own cheeks.

He looks down at his supplies instead. "What colors are yours?"

Keith slips his hands into the pockets of his pants and quirks an eyebrow. "My gloves are red. The bandages are black."

"So we're matching somehow? Nice."

It seems Keith hadn't realized that. By the time it sinks in, the red in his ears has spread to his face. It's a small victory for Shiro, as well as a delightful sight. Keith grumbles something unintelligible and shoves him playfully when he walks past, and Shiro follows him again leisurely, allowing himself to stare at his ass again for a couple of seconds.

They come across Matt and Pidge, still waiting in the same spot as they were before. Upon being informed that Lance is waiting in the parking lot, Keith waves them goodbye, and Shiro knows he doesn't imagine the way his - beautiful, gorgeous, stunning - blue eyes linger on him for a beat longer. They remain quiet, watching him until he disappears outside without looking back, and once Shiro looks at his friends, expecting to be subjected to their teasing, he's surprised when all he sees is Matt sagging sullenly against a pillar and Pidge snickering to herself.

"Lance made me carry all the dumbbells by myself." Matt puts as much suffering in his voice as he can. When he tries to lift his arms and gives up with a wince, Pidge throws her head back and laughs loudly. He groans pitifully. "I refuse to ever see him again."

Shiro would, though, if it meant Keith would be with him, but he doesn't mention that and settles for patting his arm gently. "I'll drive us back."


	3. throw the bait, catch the shark

Is anyone else's heart about to just - just stop beating after friday or is that just me? uh?

Enjoy!

* * *

It's nearing three in the afternoon on the following Monday when Shiro finds himself in Matt's car with Pidge behind the wheel. She's slightly more reckless than her brother when it comes to driving, but she's mindful of the man sitting beside her and is careful enough to never go over the speed limit, and he's incredibly grateful for that. He checks his bag again to make sure the boxing gloves are in there, which fit perfectly by the way. His fingers brush over the unopened hand wrappings and Shiro quickly retracts his hand to zip the bag shut.

Pidge had offered to teach him how to wrap them correctly around his hands, but he brushed her off and said he could handle. She saw right through his acts.

Could she blame him for wanting his crush to be the one touching his hand and telling him what to do?

She had explained sometime on Sunday how the schedule worked. Shiro was sure Keith would not have forgotten to mention crucial facts, so he can only blame himself for watching the way Keith's lips moved as he spoke, tantalizing enough that he forgot to listen to and acknowledge every word that came from his perfect mouth. Either way, the classes he teaches at seven in the evening are for beginners and the ones at nine are for more advanced, graduated students.

Lance teaches the class in between for intermediates and this one class in the afternoon that anyone can participate in - graduated or not, adult or not.

Pidge finds a spot close enough to the gym and parks the car carefully, noticing the way the muscles in his arm jump when the parking sensor beeps but pretending not to see anything. She turns to him with a smile he recognizes as comforting and unbuckles her seatbelt. "Ready?"

"I don't know how I feel about possibly training with kids."

She laughs quietly as she reaches for her bag on the backseat. "Is that the only reason why you were hesitant to move your lunch hour to come today?"

He pauses and knows she will see right through his lie again, yet he tries. "Yes."

"Shiro." She fixes him with a stare and mindlessly plays with the car keys. "I know you got the hots for Mr. Pretty Boy Keith, but you're paying for these classes, so you might as well attend to them."

"I… Don't have the hots for him."

God, not even Shiro believes what comes out of his mouth right then. And neither does Pidge, because she throws her head back to laugh before opening the door and stepping outside. "Denial never suited you well."

Music is playing from the speakers when they enter the gym, four kids sitting on the bench accompanied by two teenage girls messing around their phones as they talk. The six of them look up once they stop by the desk to speak with Lance, six pair of eyes trained of them, and Pidge gladly steps into their line of vision to block the sight of his arm. It's been a while since he felt comfortable with people looking at him so intensely and Shiro second guesses his choice of dressing accordingly to the warm weather.

"Hey, Shiro, Pidge." Lance looks up from the computer and shoots them a bright grin.

"I told you not to call me that."She huffs, crossing her arms loosely. "Why did Matt have to let it slip?"

"Sorry, Lance." Shiro says, unapologetic, lifting a fist so Pidge can bump it with hers. "Family and close friends only."

He snorts, clicks closed the tabs on the browser and stands from the chair. "I'll give you a month until Keith is part of the list."

Shiro sputters, but Pidge and Lance are already walking towards the other students. "If they stop dancing around each other, maybe."

With flushed cheeks, he decides to ignore their bantering about the sexual tension that thickens the air when they're in the same room, as they put it, and sets away his shoes and bag in the locker, bowing before stepping on the training mat and standing beside Pidge. The four kids settle in a line to his left, three boys and a girl, all of them looking up at him with wide eyes, none of them tall enough to reach his hips. He vaguely notices that the teenagers are looking too and tries to push it aside in favor of stretching, Lance pacing around the mat as he tells them what to do.

The sequence Lance teaches them after running laps around the room is fairly easy, probably because there are children in here. Pidge punches and kicks away freely at her own pace and strength, and Shiro holds back a little, hoping not to offend her by doubting her strength, but she's so small and he's already hurt a Holt before, he doesn't need to hurt another one.

A thin layer of perspiration coats his face and exposed skin one hour later when the class is over. He's drinking from his water bottle, sitting on the bench with Pidge across the room talking on the phone and the four kids circling him. The little girl steps forward, pigtails uneven on her head, and flashes him a grin that shows her missing tooth.

"What's your name, mister?"

He smiles at her. "I'm Shiro. What's yours?"

"I'm Camila." She sways on the balls of her feet. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty eight."

The boys murmur among themselves and one, who he thinks is named Peter, steps forward, a sparkle in his eyes. "You're so tall! And big!"

"Will we get tall and big too if we train too?"

Ah, so this is what all the staring is about and, honestly, it's a relief. Shiro knows he's not the only person in the world with a prosthesis, but this one is different enough to attract more attention than he'd like, but it seems his sheer size and bulk caught their eyes more than the metal limb. "You will, but you have to eat well too."

Another boy, Carlos maybe, scrunches his face up. "What do you mean?"

"That means you have to eat vegetables." There's a collective eww! from the kids and he chuckles once he sets his bottle aside. "I ate all my broccoli, carrots and beans, so now I can do this."

He flexes his arm, his human one, makes the kids swoon at the size of his bicep. A squeak reaches him and he looks at the teenagers in time to see one of them hiding her face in her hands and the other dropping her head so her curtain of hair can block it from view. Embarrassed, Shiro turns his attention back to the children as they poke their fingers into the muscle, mesmerized. Lance calls two of them and they skitter away, yelling to their moms standing at the door about vegetables, and the teens take their leave as well, yelping a goodbye as they pass him and the remaining kids.

"Do you like Lance's class?" Camila asks from her new perch on the bench beside him.

Before he can say anything, Carlos interrupts from where he's comparing the size of their arms. "I like when Keith has to substitute him. He always lets us use the punching bags."

"You hurt me, Carlos." Lance clutches his chest and lets out an obnoxious wail, miming wiping away a tear from his eyes. The boy widens his eyes and stammers, but Lance is quick to drop the act and laugh as he ruffles his dark hair. "Come on. Your dad is waiting for the both of you outside."

Pidge rejoins him then, smothering a chuckle behind a fist and looking at him with too much mirth in her eyes. "Wow, Shiro, seems like you got fans. You sure are a star." He rolls his eyes at her, good-naturedly of course, and finishes packing his stuff. He's got half an hour to shower and grab a quick bite before returning to the Garrison. "You should look back now, Shiro."

With a questioning hum, he turns his torso around to look at the door and his mouth dries at the sight of gray sweats hugging toned thighs and, shit, Keith's ass is marvelous in that. It all seems like a scene from a movie when his bare arms lift up to take off his helmet and his hair tumbles down to brush against the back of his neck, and Shiro swears he watches everything in slow motion, the way his fingers comb through the dark locks and his lips tug in a smirk he directs at Lance. He blinks, lashes fluttering, those beautiful, gorgeous blue eyes shifting to take them all in. Shiro forgets himself, forgets everything, and there's only him and Keith standing alone in whiteness and oh the angels are back and singing in his ears and sparkles are-

"Shiro." Pidge hisses, elbow buried deep into his ribs, and he jerks away with a grunt, face coloring. "Stop embarrassing me."

Embarrassing her? He just embarrassed himself in front of Keith, who's walking towards them with the most dazzling smile Shiro has ever seen. Pidge sighs heavily beside him and this time he's aware of the dopey smile on his face, but he can't quite bring himself to care about it when Keith is looking at him like that. Yeah, well, maybe he can agree that there is some sexual tension going on between them - Shiro would have to be blind and stupid to not want to touch Keith a little less properly, more intimately - but he wants more than just that. That's how for gone he is for this man he barely knows.

"Shiro, Katie." He greets them easily, helmet tucked beneath his arm. "Did you enjoy this afternoon's class?"

"Well, at least someone knows not to call me Pidge!" She says loudly and Lance makes an outrageous sound from somewhere in the gym, making her snort. "Yes, it was very fun." Pidge cocks her head towards Shiro. "The kids really liked him and his biceps, too."

Keith chuckles, a hearty sound that makes Shiro's stomach twist pleasantly. "Can't blame them if they have good taste."

Holy shit. Did he just-? Pidge whistles and Lance laughs from somewhere on the training mat, no doubt having overheard it. He did! Shiro isn't hearing things, after all. Keith likes his biceps and that knowledge makes Shiro's heart soar high in the sky as a pleasant flush rises up the back of his neck. Keith doesn't give him the chance to reply, though, only winks at Shiro with a smile and a wave and makes his way back to the front desk. Pidge gives him a moment to recompose himself, huffs and taps away at her phone and then rushes him to grab his bag so they can go. The half hour he had for shower and lunch has been reduced to twenty-five minutes and they have yet to leave the gym.

She goes on ahead, waving goodbye and stepping out the building and into the warm sunshine. Keith lifts a hand as Shiro approaches for a high five, their palms touch and his fingers glide across Keith's skin, wishing he could have felt its texture, but still he grins at the instructor and follows Pidge all the way to the car. Pidge spares him from more embarrassment and doesn't tease him, and so the drive to the Holts residence is filled with mindless chatter about work and college, lasting until he disappears inside the guest room, which by now belongs to him, and closes the door.

Leaning against the door, Shiro opens his fist and looks at the slip of paper that rests on his prosthetic palm, numbers written in thick black ink accompanied by a cursive Keith. His thumb brushes across the characters almost reverently and he thanks the heavens for being blessed with Keith's phone number, given to him by his crush himself. Shiro saves the number on his phone and tucks the paper in his wallet just in case. He always keeps changes of clothes at the Holts, so he takes some from the wardrobe and heads into the adjoining bathroom.

It's later when he's in his office at the Garrison, trying to surreptitiously take bites of his food despite being alone in the room, staring at the blackened screen of his phone, that he racks his brain for something to send to Keith, but comes up blank. He can't jump straight to flirting for two reasons: he doesn't want to scare Keith away and Shiro can't flirt for the life of him. Matt says that he does know, but Shiro doesn't believe him. If he indeed flirts with people, then he isn't even aware of that.

He sets his wrap down and sips the smoothie he bought, staring at the printed logo on the white cup and letting the fruity taste linger on his tongue. It was one of his favorite places to get a quick, healthy bite, and Keith is a Muay Thai teacher, so…

Shiro snaps a picture, making sure that the bay leaf shaped, green colored logo is fully visible and that the unbitten half of his wrap is turned around to show the filling.

[Have you ever gone to Caprese? They've got a lot of healthy food options. Thought you'd like to know.]

He presses send and pretty much tosses his cellphone away on a pile of folders, a bout of anxiety surging through him. Shiro can't undo it now, but he thinks it was a pretty safe text to send, even if his heart is beating like he's said the stupidest thing ever. Exhaling through his nose until his lungs burn, he pulls a document closer and reads it whilst eating his late lunch, savoring the spices and the freshness of the filling. Crumpling the paper and tossing it away, he leaves his office sipping on the last of his smoothie on his way to the nearest restroom to wash his hands. He'll never hear the end of it if he gets the documents dirty.

When he gets back, he finishes what he had been doing, ignoring the phone so he won't seem too eager and desperate in case Keith had just replied, but can't stop tapping his foot nervously, anxious to see what waits for him. Shiro clicks away at his computer and once he deems enough time has passed, reaches out for his phone and uses the fingerprint reader to unlock it. There's a reply from seven minutes ago. His phone is completely silent; he switches it off so it'll at least vibrate when he gets a message. Some of his co-workers hardly use the landline phones anymore.

[I haven't. That seems good, though. What's in it?]

Shiro launches into a detailed explanation of his lunch, from the wholemeal wrap to the seasoning of the chicken and crispness of the lettuce, cites every fruit in his smoothie and the brand of protein powder used. He considers mentioning the macros, but decides against it, rereading his long message and deciding to break it down in smaller ones before sending. After all four messages are sent, he sets it down and returns to work.

[Damn, I wish I could have that right now. Guess I'll have to be content with a protein bar until dinner.]

[Hahaha, sorry for that. You should try it if you have the chance!]

[Sure.]

[Show me the place sometime.]

Shiro covers his mouth with a hand, hunching on his table and staring at the screen. Did he just...? No, Shiro thinks resolutely, no, Keith just did not ask him out on a date. Keith may be his crush and he may think Shiro is hot (obviously, it's mutual), but he just did not ask him out. He didn't; after all, they have only met three times. And Shiro has just recommended a place to eat, so it makes sense if Keith wants them to go together since Shiro has been there before.

Yeah... Yeah, that seems plausible.

He makes to type, but in his nervous state, still internally debating whether or not that was an invitation to a date despite all the conclusions his brain jumped to, the phone slips from his hand and he scrambles to hold it. A new window opens, displays Keith's profile picture, and Shiro's heart thuds painfully in his ribcage because wow, Keith is standing before a white backdrop, his sleeveless shirt showing all the muscles in his arms, more prominent with the way they are folded across his chest and his hair is tied back in a ponytail, his fringe slightly disheveled, locks framing his face, and it's something worthy of a professional photoshoot, really.

Shiro makes an undignified noise and bites his bottom lip. God, how can someone be so perfect?

He drops the phone on his lap and turns to the computer when there's a knock on his door. One of his co-workers pokes his head inside his office and greets him with a grin, stepping into the room and making a small talk as he deposits a new stack of documents on the table and picks a few ones that Shiro had kept aside on the corner of his desk. Joseph is relatively new, having graduated not too long ago, still stuck in the stage in which everything is magical in the Garrison. Shiro loves what he does, adores it even, but he has his moments when he wants to get away for a little while. Joseph never seems to want a break.

Once Joseph has left, he picks up his phone to type an answer.

[Of course.]

[When are you free to go?]

It takes Keith less than a minute to reply.

[I don't know yet.]

[Let's keep talking until we figure out a good day for the both of us.]

Shiro likes the sound of that.


End file.
